Morpurgo is a master story-teller and slowly, in this clever adaptation his
words begin to grip. Rating: * * * *

The phenomonal success of the National Theatre’s production of War Horse is both a blessing and a problem for this small touring production.

For Farm Boy is Michael Morpurgo’s sequel to that epic tale of a boy’s love for his horse Joey, which carries both of them through the First World War. But where the award-winning War Horse has a revolve, life-size and magical puppets and a vast cast of actors, this production has only two performers and a static tractor sitting in the middle of the space.

To begin with it seems a bit of a swizz, especially when the start of the action – such as it is – is taken up with retelling the bit of Joey’s story we already know: his requisition by the war authorities, his sufferings in the trenches and his joyful reunion with his master.

But Morpurgo is nothing if not a master story-teller, and slowly, in this clever adaptation by director Daniel Buckroyd, his words begin to grip.

It helps that Farm Boy is set in a different period: the boy who went to war at the age of 14 is the great-grandfather of the young hero of this piece. And we hear his story through the lips of the boy’s grandpa, who is a farmer in Devon.

The tractor, centre-stage, is a rusty old Fordson that played its part in another famous ploughing contest involving Joey. That is the ostensible subject of the piece.

But its real heart lies in the relationship between the boy and his grandfather and the latter’s shamed admission that he cannot read or write. Over a long summer, the boy becomes teacher to the man, and the bond they form has implications for the boy’s future.

It is all simply but effectively told, with a minimum of props and costume changes. Matt Powell brings to the part of the grandson a sunny optimism; his fascination for his grandfather’s stories piques the audience’s own interest. As the grandpa, John Walters is both dignified and riveting. He doesn’t play for pathos, and in his understatement he allows the words to work harder.

In the end, the very bareness of the piece, its reliance on the power of words alone, is a reminder that theatre doesn’t always need puppets and effects (lovely though they are) to hold the attention.